I found an error which my beta had missed XD (formiddable does not mean easy to form XDD wahahahaha I'm such a dork)

Hope you enjoy it. And write reviews!!!

The
black wouldn't take it's hand off of me. It was carressing me with
gentle hands from the shadows in the dark apartment my futile
attempts to wave it off. I turned the light on, but the black was
still in the corners, the places where the light didn't reach, and it
was enveloping me with it's
long fingers, making me cringe in anguish. Instinctively I went and
checked on the fridge door. He had an appointment with the
psychologist. I let out a big sigh of relief. I closed my eyes and
stood there like an idiot who'd lost
his way. I didn't know why I was so afraid since what could
happen to him? He was surely out again, meeting some friends he
should stay away from. I checked the note again. The appointment was
six hours ago. And now it was nine o'clock, the psychologist couldn't
possibly be working at this hour. I took my cellphone out of the
backpocket of my jeans, dialing Ayahs cell-number out of my memory.
One signal, two signals, three signals, nothing. I dialed again. "The
number you have dialed can't be reached at the moment, the recie..."
I turned it off with annoyance, frowning. He never turned it on
anyway, he disliked talking on the phone, he only answered if he
thought it might be something important. And if he was out
tonight...he surely wouldn't even hear the signal even if it was on.
I tried to calm myself, think logically, not think the worst case
scenario. Why did I do that? I didn't know why I felt like this.
Maybe it was the knives in Ayah's eyes last night, how he'd pushed me
away. He didn't push me away verbally or physically, but I could feel
it, and it broke my heart. Did he hate me...? I
hit the fridge door, gritting my teeth. A storm of anger rumbling
through me, though I couldn't find the reason behind it. Piercing
throbs shot through my fist.

I
went and looked out of the window, hoping he would be standing there
again and waving to me with his cigarette. But those things only
happen in fairy tales and this is no fairy tale. Ayah wouldn't be
there just because I wanted him too, Ayah wouldn't love me just
because I loved him, and Ayah wouldn't get well just because he had
me. I sat down, looking at the TV screen yet not seeing it, my mind
wondering off.

Oprah
Winfrey could go to hell. I didn't wanna see how awful the lives of
poor girls being raped as children were. I switched channels, zapping
again and again, just zapping endlessly and then going to the window
again, hoping he was there like last time. Nothing of course. I got
up, walking about the room since I didn't know what else to do. I
just knew I had to talk to him, about what I didn't know or rather it
was like he had to tell me something, as if I shouldn't have silenced
him last night and I regretted that. But he would come home
eventually and he wouldn't look at me, and he would go to bed without
bothering to brush his teeth or wash the sweat and body fluids of
others off his skin and he would want me to go ask him what's
happened, ask him repeatedly until he whispered it in my ear when I
got to bed. He would murmur
it softly to me with tears in his throat and wet crystal eyes like
always, and his hand would clutch my arm so hard it would hurt, his
voice full of anger, tickling my ear, making my heart throb. He would
do that, he would do that, he would all that...

...And
his eyes wouldn't be knives...

I
went to the bathroom beacuse I needed to urinate. And then went to my
room to sleep, knowing I wouldn't be able to until I heard that front
door getting shut carelessly with a slam.

I
found him asleep there on my double-bed, cuddling a pillow, his
eyelashes wet. He usually didn't fall asleep so early, but the
medicines made him sleepy sometimes. Maybe he'd gotten a new one from
the psychologist today? I stood still, looking at him. He didn't
move, just slept, his lips slightly parted, locks of sunshine in his
face and stroking his neck. His hand clutched the pillow in front of
his face, the light from the hallway falling on him and making the
wet eyelashes shine. And the sky wasn't entirely black now, because
it was winter, and in winter the sky was never entirely black. The
greyness of the sky shone in on his bare feet that were left out of
the blanket. He always stuck his feet out of the blanket. I took my
clothes off and sneaked under the blanket beside him, looking at his
face and then touching it, shoving back a sunshine lock from his
face. He didn't wake up. Most of the time he had trouble waking up.
He had a hard time falling asleep too, just laying there and looking
at the ceiling like he always did. Even with drugs he couldn't fall
asleep and when he did fall asleep, he sometimes didn't wake up. He
could sleep for over a day so most often you had to shake him
violently before he would open his eyes. He could start walking or
screaming, tear at his hair, because he was still left in the cruel
landscape of nightmares. Though he knew he was dreaming, he couldn't
escape the frightful vision before his eyes.

I
kissed the nape of his neck and head, tightening my arm around him
slowly, slipping it under his thick knitted shirt and touching the
warm skin on his chest and then his neck, and then just holding him.
I was hoping he wouldn't notice, and at the same time hoping he
would. Hoping he would notice and not wave it off like he normally
did, but understand how deep my feelings for him were. His hair had
that special smell every person's has, and it made my heart
flutter. I'd looked forward to be with him all day, but now he was
asleep, and I knew I had to go early tomorrow to catch a plane and
wouldn't see him for a week. And would he tell me the reason for
those wet lashes after so long? I doubted that...but maybe he would.
Maybe he would whisper it to me someday.

"Is he okay?" Karen asked, looking worried.

"I'm
not sure...his lips are moving" I kneeled down beside him,
touching his ice cold and limp hand. He didn't move, didn't look at
me even though his eyes were open.

An
angel lying in the bleak and deep snow, staring at the stars. Snow
flakes were falling down on his face, and on his wet eyelashes, on
his wet lips that glistened in the light. He was whispering to the
demons. What was he whispering? I leaned closer. He looked at me. "I
don't want to die," It was barely audible, but I heard it anyway.
It was as if it was his eyes telling me that and not his lips. His
breath fogged in the cold night sky, as if it was his life, that air,
leaving his wet lips with the heaving of that thin chest.

I
carried him to the car, Karen opening the door for me.

"Thanks."
I gave her a quick glance and a quick half-hearted smile, like I
should.

"Do
you know her?" Her eyes searching for mine. In her expression I
distinguished worry and also the obvious confusionthat had made her
take the boy for a girl.

What
should I say...? She'd surely get suspicious if I said I didn't. I
noticed this woman was fairly attractive. Charming blue eyes, I liked
that, and her blonde hair was tied up. She was wearing a wine colored
dress with golden glitters on, probably going home from a rather
formal party. "Yeah, he's my nephew." I didn't even have
any siblings.

"Oh.
Well, you take care of him. I'm in a hurry. Good bye!" and she
strotted off in the thin layer of snow on the pavement, the snow that
had almost turned to dirty water from people walking it, her dress
glistening golden.She bowed her head when she walked, to shield
herself from the snow blowing against her.

"Be
careful..." I looked after her a while, leaning on the open car
door, until she turned around a corner, dazzled by the whole scenery.

I
got in the car, glancing at the frozen boy beside me. He was
petrified, sitting in the far corner of the front seat beside me. I
took my coat off, putting it on him as he looked at me with scared
eyes as if I'd kill him any second. Wet eyes, eyes like knives. "It's
okay, I won't hurt you, 'kay?"

Trembling
voice asking me: "You're the one who sings that crappy song,
right?" His voice was quite dark and low pitched, and he sounded
like he'd just woke up.

Crappy
song? He was offending me to my face. I flushed, turning my lower lip
inwards and sucking on it.

"You
know, the one about the princess?" He leaned forward to meet my
eyes.

"Yeah...?"
I raised an eyebrow, waiting for what he'd say next.

"'I've
locked you forever in my heart princess' or something like that. You
really suck. I don't know how you can put up with being you." He
stared forward at the dashboard, and then he touched it with his
finger.

I
laughed at his straight-forwardness. And tilted my head back, sinking
in the seat. "What's your name?" Stared out in front of me
through the windscreen. The snow was still falling down and a man ran
across the street with big steps holding onto his hat.

"Ayah...And
I'm not a girl," lips quivering violently from the cold.

He
rested his head on the back of the seat, his face towards me, looking
at me from under his fringe, his lips purple from the cold.

"Oh,
you're not? Seems like you're used to people thinking that, eh? Well
Ayah, wanna come for a coffee?" I said with a joking tone. The
edge of my mouth went up; I winked at him.

"Yeah...I'll
sleep over at your place if you want me to too, and do whatever you
want, I don't care, anything is fine with me." He had no place
to go. One of those who did anything for a place to spend the night
at.

"Sure."

The next day though, I braved Layla, turning my
cellphone off and even pulling out the home-phone's jack. I didn't
care about her attempts to reach me.

Ayah
woke up sometime around twelve, coming directly for lunch. He rubbed
his eyelids, not talking to me. And his eyes were crystals. I smiled
at him and felt happy even though he didn't bother to smile back. He
did get better after a shower. He dressed, not caring about me
stressing about him wearing warm clothes. But he did put the coat on,
and he did put on warm white tights and the long purple scarf. This
was, after all, the day I'd met him a year ago. Now he was seventeen.
We went out to the park and he ran, jumping around in the snow and
then falling on something that would've been a lawn had it not been
covered by the white.

Since
the weather wasn't all that cold this year, the snow was quite easy
to form. We built a castle with it. Ayah laid down in the snow,
waving his arms and legs to make a snow-angel, laughing hysterically.
My angel in the gleaming snow, dreaming of a far away world void of
this cruelty. He still didn't want to talk, but he did give me
instructions for how to build this and that, just mumbling, and I
knew I shouldn't tell him anything, just go along with it, asking if
I was doing it right or not, not try to change the subject.

Now
he laid there in the snow, tilting his head back towards me as I sat
above his head and continued to work on the castle. I wanted it to be
perfect. The snow smudged itself in the sunshine, making it wet. He
smiled to me and giggled a little, taking out a cigarette and
lighting it in shelter of his gloved hand. He smoked and looked at
the naked trees around us and at the grey sunless sky.

"You're
such a perfectionist", he said, the cigarette between his lips
because he was adjusting the woollen gloves.

"Yeah..."
I took the cigarette from him. He pouted like a cartoon character,
tilting his head back to me again. I took the smoke in a deep breath.
It made me cough. I inhaled again, getting used to the smoke in my
throat and soon getting dizzy from the nicotine kick. He laughed at
me. I laughed too. I laid on the snow beside him, feeling the cold
against the back of my head, digging through my hair to reach my
scalp, the snow getting in the collar of my coat. The dizziness felt
awesome somehow. The empty grey sky spinning, the trees spinning,
Ayah spinning.

"The
song...is about you, you know," I told him in a "by-the-way"
sort of manner.

Ayah
rolled around getting up on his elbows, sniffing in water that would
run from his nose. He looked at me for a long time, taking the almost
burnt out cigarette and inhaling the smoke one last time before
putting it out. And then he leaned forward, pressing his wet lips
against mine, a warm droplet of water running from his nose and
falling on my cheek. He sniffled again. I rolled over, placing myself
above him and gave him a deep kiss, our fingers entangled. My tongue
touched the silverball in his mouth that was his piercing. And
finally the sugar-sweet taste of the cigarette filter from his lips,
the taste of tobacco and bitter chocolate in his mouth, and the
bittersweet taste of our feelings. My heart was in my throat, and his
heart was too. And all my fears were gone. His eyes weren't knives,
they were wet crystals, and his eyelashes made my cheeks wet, his
cold fingers feeling nice against the back of my hand. "I've
locked you in my heart forever princess."

But this isn't a fairy tale.

Rewind.

The
black wouldn't take it's hand off of me. It was carressing me with
gentle hands from the shadows in the dark apartment my futile
attempts to wave it off. I turned the light on, but the black was
still in the corners, the places where the light didn't reach, and it
was enveloping me with it's
long fingers, making me cringe in anguish. Instinctively I went and
checked on the fridge door. He had an appointment with the
psychologist. I let out a big sigh of relief. I closed my eyes and
stood there like an idiot who'd lost
his way. I didn't know why I was so afraid since what could
happen to him? He was surely out again, meeting some friends he
should stay away from. I checked the note again. The appointment was
six hours ago. And now it was nine o'clock, the psychologist couldn't
possibly be working at this hour. I took my cellphone out of the
backpocket of my jeans, dialing Ayahs cell-number out of my memory.
One signal, two signals, three signals, nothing. I dialed again. "The
number you have dialed can't be reached at the moment, the recie..."
I turned it off with annoyance, frowning. He never turned it on
anyway, he disliked talking on the phone, he only answered if he
thought it might be something important. And if he was out
tonight...he surely wouldn't even hear the signal even if it was on.
I tried to calm myself, think logically, not think the worst case
scenario. Why did I do that? I didn't know why I felt like this.
Maybe it was the knives in Ayah's eyes last night, how he'd pushed me
away. He didn't push me away verbally or physically, but I could feel
it, and it broke my heart. Did he hate me...? I
hit the fridge door, gritting my teeth. A storm of anger rumbling
through me, though I couldn't find the reason behind it. Piercing
throbs shot through my fist.

I
went and looked out of the window, hoping he would be standing there
again and waving to me with his cigarette. But those things only
happen in fairy tales and this is no fairy tale. Ayah wouldn't be
there just because I wanted him too, Ayah wouldn't love me just
because I loved him, and Ayah wouldn't get well just because he had
me. I sat down, looking at the TV screen yet not seeing it, my mind
wondering off.

Oprah
Winfrey could go to hell. I didn't wanna see how awful the lives of
poor girls being raped as children were. I switched channels, zapping
again and again, just zapping endlessly and then going to the window
again, hoping he was there like last time. Nothing of course. I got
up, walking about the room since I didn't know what else to do. I
just knew I had to talk to him, about what I didn't know or rather it
was like he had to tell me something, as if I shouldn't have silenced
him last night and I regretted that. But he would come home
eventually and he wouldn't look at me, and he would go to bed without
bothering to brush his teeth or wash the sweat and body fluids of
others off his skin and he would want me to go ask him what's
happened, ask him repeatedly until he whispered it in my ear when I
got to bed. He would murmur
it softly to me with tears in his throat and wet crystal eyes like
always, and his hand would clutch my arm so hard it would hurt, his
voice full of anger, tickling my ear, making my heart throb. He would
do that, he would do that, he would all that...

...And
his eyes wouldn't be knives...

I
went to the bathroom, beacuse I needed to urinate. My hand
automatically went for the swtich, but just when I was about to turn
the light on, it stopped. My feet felt like stones, binding me to the
floor. There were candles lit, and they burned my eyes. There they
were, each standing alone, even though they were toghether they felt
lonely to me. They filled the air with vanilla.

I
rested my head against the doorframe since I couldn't move and just
looked, sucking everything in, like his crystal eyes always sucked
everything in. And I didn't know if I understood it, maybe he didn't
understand it either? Like I wasn't understanding it, even though it
was right before me. Maybe I just couldn't believe it. Maybe he was
like that too, he saw the cruelty of this world, but he just couldn't
believe it. That's why...that's why he was an angel. I didn't
understand that it was his blood in the water running down from the
edge of the bathtub and turning my world into scarlet. And I didn't
want to see his wet eyelashes that has turned into ashes now, as if
even the Sun had turned her back on him. And I didn't want to see his
small short nose just above the crimson water, no air running through
them. I didn't want to see his hair sticking to his face, the hair
that was ashes now. And I didn't want to see his crystal eyes staring
through me so cruelly. I didn't, and it was driving me insane.
Something inside my throat was choking me, but I didn't cry. I didn't
go take the pale cold hand that was dangling over the edge of the
tub. I didn't go pull his body out of the tub and kiss his purple
lips. I didn't stroke back those ashes from his face. I didn't hold
him until morning and I didn't...I didn't tell him that he's my
princess. I didn't tell him how much I love him. Because I was
afraid. Because this isn't a fairy tale. Because I wasn't an angel
like he was.

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